


Folie à Deux

by PurpleMoon3



Series: Dopple'Verse [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Codependency, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mpreg, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor wants babies.  Loki has a plan.  Tony shouldn't have gone to the Museum, and Not-Thor learns his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folie à Deux

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third Installment of the Dopple'Verse. It takes place approx. 1 year after previous selection. Porn with a tiny bit of vague backstory. Basically Loki manged to manipulate certain museums into gathering a few important artifacts in one place. Tony happened to be there smoozing with fellow billionaires. Thor was on call. Nat was there pretending to be arm candy for a diplomat.

If not for his gold-titanium alloy faceplate, Tony would be spitting ornamental grass.  
  
The famed Iron Man had lost count of how many times Loki had thrown, punted, or telekinetic-ally defenestrated him. He thought it was getting very close to the triple digits, but there was something intrinsically different about the way Odin's wayward son had wrinkled his nose dismissively that seemed… off.  
  
There were many things, building over the weeks, that seemed off.  
  
Everyone knew Loki "Crazy Cakes" Asgard was insane. It was what made him the most persistent, most irritating, most devastatingly destructive criminal currently Earthside. SHEILD was quite capable of handling minor threats and often took care of the problem before it escalated to the point where the Avengers needed to be called in.  
  
On the off chance Fury and Friends didn't nip a serious heist, hostage situation, or technological and environmental disaster in the bud it was usually a question of bystanders and the Avengers were the face everyone came to know and love. A PR saving grace dressed in bright colors and coiffed hair. Iron Man would be there to save the day and restore status quo - the quo with Tony on top, because such a brilliant mind as his own never fucked up.  
  
So long as he had all the information and variables accounted for, anyway, which was why fighting someone as infuriatingly inconsistent as Loki was such a trial. He and Brucie and Nat and everyone still scrambled around during Loki's attacks, splitting their forces, trying to determine if today's goal was to paint the building with the blood of innocents, beat Thor to a pulp while screaming things best left to a therapist, or give every child under the age of five a pony -that either flew, breathed fire, or shat actual rainbows- for Christmas. All while trying not to get killed.  
  
Which was why Tony was now wiping clods of dirt from his armor and trying to reorient back to the battle. Loki hadn't come alone this time. Loki had brought a _friend_.  
  
Loki wasn't supposed to _have_ friends. It was part of the villain code, or something.  
  
Passing a finger over the gash in his armor -since when did Loki's magi-bolts do _that_ \- Tony blasted back though the shattered window he'd been thrown out of. It appeared as though Natasha had escorted or intimidated the guests to safety, as the Natural History Museum was deserted except for all the Priceless Broken Artifacts. (And Tony would have to pay for them, probably, because he was the only Avenger stupid enough to make his living space and contact information public. Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuuuupid.)  
  
Loki looked a little frustrated in his mussed suit, crawling around on his hands and knees in the broken bits, looking for something. "HEY! Little Crazy! I'm right here!" Tony lifted his palm and fired a repulser just to the left of Loki's head.  
  
Instead of leaping into the attack, as Tony hoped, Loki ignored him. Didn't even glance from his oh-so-fascinating collection of spilled rings and necklaces and straw dolls when the far case of cat mummies exploded outward and rolled hollowly along the ground.  
  
This lasted for all of sixty seconds, and Tony was contemplating leaving Loki to his salt-counting and going to back-up whoever was causing the walls to shake when Loki let out a squeal that would make a fan-girl jealous and pocked something too big for a finger and too little for a wrist. It glinted bronze in the emergency lights with what might have been a snake motif.  
  
It vanished with a flick of Loki's wrist, and the mad god purred as he turned to Tony, all of that insane and terrifying attention sharpened to a diamond edge.

* * *

 

Tony Stark. Iron Man. Leader of the Avengers, if not their Field Strategist.  
  
Once, Loki would have been happy to count such a man as his friend. For all that he had been harried, the first time around, Loki had enjoyed his little spars with the mortal. They were two of kind, with ignorant fathers and uncaring mothers, taken for granted, used; similarities that were glaringly obvious and should have made them natural allies. Should have.  
  
Loki raised his hands as if in surrender.  
  
"O-Kay… nice and easy, Loki-lou. Got the shiny, time to call off the attack dog…"  
  
Loki twisted his fingers, and grinned at the guttural gasp escaping Stark's throat. Asgard was coated in gold, a metal so soft it was seemingly useless, but with particular conductive properties even the Mortals recognized and prized. Idly, he wondered if Old Murphy had been able to find and train someone to repair and recharge the security spells and warding since Loki's death. If not, well… Old Murphy was called _Old_ Murphy for a reason, and while the life of a Court Mage rarely saw battle some things were inevitable.  
  
"I wonder." Loki asked aloud as he circled his captive, fine clothing of the evening leaving in a ripple of gold to be replaced with links of metal and leather. "Just where did you acquire the term, 'Iron Man'? That armor barely has the iron to make a sewing needle."  
  
One hand he kept raised, slowly clenching it into a fist. The sound of squealing, stressed metal drowned out the screams. He lowered his hand, the floating, blood-leaking armor lowered with it. A flick of his finger had the helmet flying off to bounce at the foot of a five thousand year old statue. Blood leaked from that panting mouth, and Loki straddled the body.  
  
He considered ripping into the throat with his own teeth. That was what monsters did, right, and Thor liked it when Loki was covered in _other_ being's blood.  
  
 _Thor…_ Loki rubbed against the shell, groin rubbing against a badly bent leg. The mortal was babbling. He always babbled. Trying to by time. Trying to figure out what Loki had done, how he had done it, but if not-Thor had not seen fit to inform its shield brother of the dangers of unprotected gold based armor then Loki certainly wasn't going to.  
  
"Would you like to be my puppet?" Loki asked, bearing down a twisted knee and the ridged of links that rubbed so deliciously against his hardening cock. "I will take the pain away, replace such easily bruised flesh with true iron and scented oils. Sif has a wig of gold, softer and finer than any head of hair. Tyr has a hand greater than any weapon, carved of stone. I could give you a body of jewels, and steel, and pump lightning through your blood…"  
  
"A-Always hated, pino, Pinocchio." The mortal inventor gasped.  
  
"No, Stark." Loki withdrew, dreamy expression melting into a snarl. "You are. All of you."  
  
Loki floated an stone jar to his hand, twisted off the cap of a baboon, and leaned forward, mind reaching back to his first visit to the gods-forsaken planet. A thought, a gesture, and the armor split like the shell of a pea to reveal beaten, compressed, bloody insides. "Like the pharaohs of old…"

* * *

 

The creature was fast, Thor would give it that. His new battle axe, a gift bought by his brother and paid for in blood, bit into the marble floor of the mortal memory hall. Thor rolled, weapon rolling with him, rather than take the precious seconds needed to heft the blade and turn back to his opponent. Blood dripped from a cut along its jaw -red, red, oceans of red would spill before it revealed its true purpose- where it had narrowly dodged the swing to it's neck. Blonde hair spilled, too perfect, and baby-smooth skin.  
  
A true warrior would show his scars, for they write his history upon his skin. Told the tales of his honors strength and his horror's survived.  
  
Thor raged.  
  
"ABOMINATION!" He screamed, blocked the downward swing of what should have been his. The hammer left a trail of holes from where it had been called, and the armor that formed around the creature was a lie and an insult. Thunder rumbled in his ears, and the lightning danced in his blood, crooning as his cloak drifted in the eldrich breeze. The red mantle of his Enemy drifted heroically, tauntingly.  
  
"I know not what Loki hath claimed to bring you to his side, warrior, but it is not too late! Abandon my wicked brother and there may yet be succor for a fighter of such skill as you." The Not-Him spoke, and it was laughable. No Thor would offer mercy in a battle such as this. It was weak. It was disgusting. Twas was cowardly action to make such claims when victory was so questionable.  
  
And the AllFather had granted the power of the Storms to this… this… _thrall_.  
  
Odin had never truly valued him, either.  
  
But though Odin could snatch, could seal, could confer some magics from others Thor had not been _granted_ the Thunder by Mjolnir. Thor had been born with his power, and such was not so easily stolen. Snarling, with the cold, bright lights of the blood lust creeping up on him Thor pushed back. Surprised, the Thing was forced to step back or fall over, and Thor pushed through swinging his Svart-Forged axe.  
  
He was going to _gut_ the cursed _pretender_ and make sausages from his _intestines_. Devour him like the animal he was.  
  
Storm clouds had gathered over head, and in desperation the not-Thor called on them for help. Thor stood, the cowl of his cloak falling back, and let the rain and wind and bolts of white-hot lightning crash down. It coursed through him, tickled, settled deep inside and began to purr as it recognized it's one, true master.  
  
Thor roared, axe abandoned, and with fingers like claws wrested Mjolnir from his Doppleganger's hands and took his life back. One bloody piece at a time.

* * *

 

Loki could feel his brother's eyes move over his oil-anointed skin like a caress. Four days fasting in preparation, in drawing and re-drawing the hieroglyphs, in puzzling out a ritual twice as old as Odin himself, and it was worth it for this moment as that hungry blue gaze feel upon his form and _saw_. Thor had always seen Loki, and loved Loki, and embraced all the little quirks with a laugh and a smirk at the unfortunate target of Loki-the-Trickster, Loki-the-Liar, Loki-the- _Ergi_ 's ire. He did not look away from the scars or the frost-claimed skin.  
  
 _Thor-claimed_ , Loki thought with relish. _Blue like the sky after a storm as passed._  
  
"Oh, little _brother_ , my lovely little _cow_." Thor's footsteps were heavy, but even in his aroused state the Thunderer was careful not to smudge the foreign images circling the space. Sandalwood and smoke from too-many candles and burners filled the air. Loki's head dipped from the weight of his headdress and its two long, slender, golden, bull like horns. For the ritual to work he could not speak. Instead, with his bound cock throbbing in painful arousal, Loki curved his back and lowed in supplication. Thor's presence was like a warm pressure at his back, and Loki would have winced at the thud of knees hitting the floor if not for the hands suddenly around his throat, tickling his adam's apple. "It was not nice, sweet cow, leaving me wanting as you did. The tables and chairs suffered for it, but, I think, this I can forgive."  
  
The tight grip ceased, and his brother's hands slid along his shoulders, pressing him to the ground, kneading at Loki's monstrous, bare skin. Loki moaned as the heels of Thor's palms worked at his shoulders, and with each rock of motion Thor's own bobbing erection grazed Loki's balls. Close, so close, but necessary. Thor finally draped himself over Loki like a blanket, and hugged his brother close. He grunted in surprise as the glistening oil on Loki's skin soaked into his quickening both their need. It trickled through the blood, and Thor jerked his hips in surprise. His calloused fingers explored the bronze ring imprisoning Loki's maleness. He played along Loki's length like a flute, rubbed the sensitive head and laughed when Loki lowed pathetically while pushing back into him.  
  
"Is this a game?" Thor asked contemplatively, forefinger tracing the primitive scar that ran in swirls along Loki's back. "Are you the primordial mother, and I Ymir? How am I to milk you, cow?"  
  
Loki increased the spread of his own legs in response, tears welling in his eyes, thrashing his head back and forth because it had to be _now_ and his cock wept as his hole dripped sweet honey.  
  
His brother understood. The God of Storms, of the Thunder that shook the Heavens and Rain that nurtured the Earth, entered his darling brother in one sudden movement. Thor settled in with a satisfied grunt and continued at a slow and leisurely pace: punishment for the long wait. Loki's hands clenched into fists that he covered his eyes with, as each movement from Thor brushed against his prostate and sent another pulse of energy bouncing around his insides.  
  
Loki's pulse _sang_. He could feel power welling up from something dark and deep, a torrent increasing with every push and pull and kiss that Thor pressed upon him, and Loki could not swallow it all. He was full, yet he hungered. He wanted to run, to _let go_ but the ring held him back.  
  
His brother came quietly, but the light of the candles flared, and Loki's scream was a bellow that echoed around the room. There was a rustle of water through reeds in his ears, and magic warm in his mouth, burbling over his lips to spill like liquid fire over the stone. His body trembled as the tides of magic in the small circle continued to ebb and flood, growing with each cycle, threatening to pull him under and out. To lose his mind.

For the chamber he'd prepared was gone, and in it's place Loki saw one long river spilling over the banks as a gleaming red sun rose over hot sands. He felt breath against his neck and soft, smooth hands press against his stomach. They were not Frigga's. Thor's nicked and calloused fingers weighed down his shoulder, dug into his hip to keep the power from stealing his claimed prize away.  
  
Thor began to back away, movements the sluggish contentment of sexual satisfaction, but stilled. " _Loki_." His brother growled, power crackling through the saturated air in alarm. "I cannot-"  
  
Loki smiled at the eyes only he, in this sacred space, could see. Cat eyes that became hawkish, then a snake's, and a woman's. Horns glinted, because for all that he played the role it was not _Loki_ who was the one to be milked. He shuddered, and the bull over him groaned as his deliciously over-sensitive cock was milked with infinite care by Loki's inner walls. Cheek pressed against Loki's skin, Thor grunted as the oil soaking them both ensured the continuation of the rut, and Thor began rocking, surrendering to the frenzy of the ritual.  
  
Still, Loki could not come. The ring encircling his own satisfaction held it back, writhing and cutting off even the smallest of spurts. The pleasure continued to grow, the warmth turning to unbearable heat with each desperate, frantic thrust from his mate. The bull that was a wolf drew blood with his teeth, tiny rivets that would scar and let no one question what they meant to one another.  
  
His brother spilled his seed again, and again and again, driving it deep into the trickster like it was his mission, his sole reason for being and each time he came Loki felt those hands, those soft-smooth hands press into his belly, cut through skin and meat and bone, grasp at his insides and stir them up. It should have hurt, he should have been screaming, but all he could feel, all that mattered, was Thor pounding into his flesh and his own desire. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted he wanted he wantedhewantedwantwanted-  
  
Loki shuddered silently as he came, though not a drop of cum escaped his ringed cock. The building tidal force of power focused inward, warped and imploded and Loki felt a blessedly cool rush as life sparked inside him. Exhausted, his brother finally slid free of his stretched, sore hole and collapsed to the floor, panting, staring at Loki as though drugged. Loki followed him down, casting off the horns that were not his, oil and sweat and blood mingling as they curled around each other.  
  
Ten fingers and ten toes. If Loki closed his eyes he could count them. Light of hair and blue eyes... to match blue skin, but lighter in tone than Loki's. There would be no heritage scars, not for their baby, but tiny horns... monster and man.  
  
Loki's eyes fluttered shut as he rested his head on his brother's chest, listening to three heartbeats.


End file.
